


Limbo

by potofsoup



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, No one is phased by time travel, Sam makes WWII better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potofsoup/pseuds/potofsoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hi, I'm Sam Wilson.  Paratrooper.  I... uh... dropped in last night.  Lost the rest of my team."  Wilson looked around.  "You must be the Howling Commandos.  I've heard so much about you --"  He went around naming everyone and some of their exploits, drawing curt nods from Monty and Dernier, and a hat tip from Dum-Dum.  From Wilson's odd metal pack to his shirt that hugged his torso too tightly, no one was fooled by his claims about being a paratrooper, but one man posed no threat, so they waited for Cap to make the final call.</p><p>[Written especially for the Sam/Steve exchange]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/gifts).



Bucky was high up a tree for this HYDRA raid -- Now that Steve's no longer asthmatic, he seemed to have a thing about leaping improbably out of fiery infernos, so now it's Bucky's job to keep the exits clear for Steve's heroics.

As if on cue, a series of small explosions shook the concrete building and Bucky could see flickers of fire from the doors as agents streamed out. Bucky methodically took down each one with a single shot. Some of the HYDRA agents were sufficiently ablaze that he just let them be -- no need to waste a bullet when they're at least a week from supplies. 

The stream of agents turned into a trickle, and Bucky finished with a few bullets to spare. And that's when he saw it -- a blooming white light in the middle of the sky, a figure silhouetted against the light, then plummeting down just over the trees. For a second the figure seemed to sprout burning wings. A year ago he would have just dismissed that as too little sleep, but now he was fighting against weapons that vaporized humans in one shot and his best friend can probably jump a city block. So Bucky mentally marked the direction and distance and tried not to think too much abut the flaming wings. There used to be a time when things weren't always on fire.

\------

Bucky knew where to look on their march the next day to spot the limbs spread akimbo in the bushes at the base of a tall pine. They were taking a break and the others were a bit pre-occupied -- Dum-Dum was surreptitiously munching on some ham and refusing to share with Monty, Dernier was trying to convince Morita to let him add some newly acquired gadget to the radio (with Gabe as the hapless translator,) and Steve was flipping through some HYDRA papers. So Bucky just slipped a dozen yards to the base of the tree.

He wasn't sure quite what he expected, but it turned out to be a Negro soldier in a rather strange getup, sporting some dark bruises and knocked out from the fall. Clearly not HYDRA, but no Allies insignia either. At least he didn't have wings or a red skull. 

The man's eyes open blearily when Bucky prodded him, but snapped to focus once he saw Bucky's face. His eyes took in the rest of Bucky's uniform, then darted a quick glance at Bucky's left hand. "Bucky?" the words slipped out of the man's lips as a half-whisper.

Bucky's eyes narrowed. Men falling from sky portals shouldn't know his name, much less call him Bucky. He leaned in, digging his knee into the man's solar plexus. "You. The light last night." Bucky hissed. "You're HYDRA. I should just kill you and tell Steve I found you dead from the fall."

"If you thought I was HYDRA you would have killed me already." The man chuckled, "James Buchanan Barnes does not take prisoners." The way he said that, the weight of certainty behind it... Bucky took a few steps back. Why does he know these things?

"Bucky, what's going on?" Steve called from behind. "Who is it? Does he need medical help?"

The way the man's eyes lit up at the sound of Steve's voice sent a shiver of familiarity down Bucky's spine. The man scrambled to his feet and delivered a friendly salute at the approaching commandos. 

"Hi, I'm Sam Wilson. Paratrooper. I... uh... dropped in last night. Lost the rest of my team." Wilson looked around. "You must be the Howling Commandos. I've heard so much about you --" He went around naming everyone and some of their exploits, drawing curt nods from Monty and Dernier, and a hat tip from Dum-Dum. From Wilson's odd metal pack to his shirt that hugged his torso too tightly, no one was fooled by his claims about being a paratrooper, but one man posed no threat, so they waited for Cap to make the final call.

Steve had on his best Captain America face as he shook Wilson's hand. "I didn't think the newsreels got into such detail, but ... yeah. Nice to meet you, airman." Wilson flashed Steve another one of those smiles. Steve looked bewildered, but when he smiled back, it was a Steve smile and not a Captain America smile. The Commandos relaxed as Steve slapped Wilson on the back and said, "Come along, Wilson. Let's get out of enemy territory."

Bucky got the distinct feeling that Wilson didn't get his information from the newsreels, but he held his tongue about what he saw last night. Steve was right: he wasn't an enemy, and that's enough for now. Bucky needed some time to figure out the rest of it. Thankfully he'd gotten very good at watching and waiting since he became a soldier. 

\- *- * - *-* - *-* -

Life stopped making sense after he met Steve Rogers on that routine run around the Monument, so all things considered, schlepping through a random chunk of German forest was practically normal. If Sam ignored his aches and pains from that fall from the trees, and didn't think too hard about how it's 1944 and Hitler might be behind a bush somewhere, it's *almost* like the time when he took Steve hiking the Appalachian Trial with his cousins.

If his cousins were the freakin' Howling Commandos. Sam couldn't help beaming when he looked at his companions. He's read Howling Commandos biographies as a kid, and also played all the Howlers video games, even the one where they took on Dracula. And of course, Steve's been talking his ear off about them ever since he found Sam's stash of Howlers trading cards. And the reality didn't disappoint. Sure, he wasn't quite prepared for Dum-Dum's bad breath, or Monty's love of English poets, and all the cigarette smoke everywhere. But Steve also didn't tell him about Gabe's wry humor or Morita's potty mouth. Sam made a mental note to punch Steve when he gets back.

Getting back -- maybe he should have stayed by the tree and waited for the portal to re-open. That woulda been the smart thing to do. But Steve was there, and if nothing else made sense, Sam knew his place was by Steve's side. Except that's where Bucky Barnes is.

A year of searching and reading everything he could find on the Winter Soldier didn't prepare him at all for the man marching ahead of him who was cheerfully trying to get Dugan to share some of his stash of roast beef by insulting his mother. "C'mon, Dum-Dum. I'll swap you 1 pack of cigs *and* my chocolate bar. I coulda had your mom twice for that price. Monty, back me up here." "Indeed, the price of Dugan's mother was established last week when Dugan lost at cards and refused to pay up. I believe I myself am owed three fucks in lieu of two packs of cigs." 

Dugan reluctantly pulled out a paper package and shoved it at Barnes. "Here. Now we're even." Barnes gleefully unwrapped it, ripped off a hunk of the beef, then ran up to share the ham with Steve. Steve said distractedly, "Thanks, Buck, but I think our guest might need the nutrition more."

Steve calling him guest. That hurt. Especially when Sam wanted nothing more than to be walking by his side. 

"Steve, all you had this morning was 3 crackers." Barnes said softly. "Even Captain America needs food."

Steve gave Bucky a warm look that made all of Sam's last year of searching worth it. The ham quickly disappeared down Steve's gullet. "Thanks, Bucky."

Sam's stomach chose at that time growl loudly, and he suddenly realized that he was following embarrassingly close behind the two. They glanced back sharply, faces instantly guarded. Right. Don't break too many things. This is 1944 and Steve already had Bucky at his side. "On your left," Sam said gruffly, and plowed forward past them. 

\- *-* - *-* - *-* -

Bucky watched as Wilson stalked into the woods ahead. He half-expected Wilson not to return -- maybe that light would reappear. But instead Wilson came hurrying back, face grim. "We need to backtrack and head west."

Bucky was coming up with the perfect jab when the wind shifted and he smelled it: the mix of engine oil, gunpowder, and smoked rotting flesh that meant there was a battlefield up ahead. "Yeah, let's go, Steve," he tugged at Cap's uniform. Dum-Dum was already tucking his bourbon back in his vest, and Gabe and Dernier moved to scout westward.

"Wait. What's up ahead?" Steve frowned, confused. By now the smell was everywhere, and Bucky wished Steve were smaller so that he could drag the idiot away. He pulled at Steve harder. "Nothin', Steve." His throat tightened as he recalled his last battle -- HYDRA marching them past the dead and dying 107th. "Come on, we need need to go." He wanted to vomit. He wanted to get Steve away from that nightmare.

"No. Not until I find out what's going on." Steve squared his shoulders and plowed forward. Shit. 

Bucky had no choice but to follow.

\- *-* - *-* - *-* -

Sam had seen his share of war and death on his tours, but the geography here made it different. The trees were so good at hiding the mass carnage from sight, and the soils and ferns added a certain earthy musk that muted the scent of death. 

He's also used to a different vantage point. Sam tried to imagine what he would see from above: a giant smoldering gash in the middle of the forest, tank paths spreading outwards (or was it inwards?) like cracks on a broken glass. The Germans were losing but that just made the battles bloodier.

If his wings weren't broken he could follow the tank tracks to find the next engagement, do his part to save what meager lives he can from the groaning, surging forces of war. He was trained to swoop in and pull wounded out of firefights, not stand helplessly at the edge of the exploded earth, looking at the aftermath. The war had moved on, leaving behind people beyond rescue. 

"It's all right, Steve." Bucky said into the silence. "The clean-up crew will be here soon enough. They'll all get proper burials and letters home." Steve made a choked noise beside him. 

At first he thought Steve wanted to see the battlefield out of some sense of patriotic duty. But now Sam turned to really notice the way Steve stood dumbfounded, mouth open and breathing too hard. This was Steve's first battlefield. "This... this is what you didn't want me to see." Steve's voice was quiet. Steve went from USO tour straight to leading the Howling Commandos. Right.

Then Steve swallowed and started resolutely picking his way further into the carnage, checking each body for signs of life. Of course Steve would do that: stare death and war in the face and try to recover its humanity.

Barnes clenched his fists beside him. Gone were the cheerful smirk he had with the Howlers. Gone even was the sharp assessing look that Sam awoke to this morning. His eyes were hooded, his mouth a thin, tight line. Sam's seen that look often enough in the mirror and at the VA to know what that meant.

"Hey," Sam used his warmest voice. "I got this. I'll bring him back." And before Barnes could say no, Sam scurried after Steve. 

Steve was crouched over a body. A boy with light brown skin and straight black hair. He was wearing a uniform that Sam didn't recognize. "On your left." Sam said quietly as he approached. 

"From one of the French colonies." Steve said without looking up. "Vietnam, I'm guessing."

"Shit, man. My dad fought in..." Sam mentally slapped himself. "My dad fought in the last war. Doesn't talk about it much." Sam squatted down next to him. "I can see why."

"Y'know, after I was ... made, Colonel Phillips told me the he needed an army, and that I wasn't enough." Steve shook his head and smiled bitterly. "He was right. I'm wearing a costume and fighting a guy who calls himself Red Skull. And even if I take him out, so what? There's still Hitler. And Hirohito."

Steve turned to face him. "And even if I could stop them, so what? Have you seen the newsreels about Central Henan and Saipan? Can I undo Stalingrad and Nanking? Could any of that have stopped a Vietnamese boy from dying in a foreign battlefield halfway around the world?" Steve was yelling, now.

"Whoa there, Cap." Sam laid a hand on Steve's back. That worked in the future so maybe it'd work now. "The world isn't yours to save. In fact, people who believe that tend to be the ones who end up almost destroying the world." 

Steve sat back on his heels. "But I'm fighting fake Nazis with blue lasers while the real war goes on." 

"I think the word you're looking for super. Super Nazis." Sam corrected him. "HYDRA isn't fake. And they're hella insidious." 

Steve shot him a sharp look at the mention of HYDRA, and Sam scrambled to redirect. "Look, all I'm saying is that these deaths aren't on you. You don't need to avenge the death of this boy, or any of the people here. People kill each other. Have been for as long as there have been people. All you can do is just... do what you can." Sam knew how lame that sounded coming out of his mouth. But really, inspirational speeches are Steve's thing, not his. 

Sam saw a stirring at the edge of the clearing, and gestured at the Howlers gathered there. "You inspire other people to be better, you know? All those people had a chance to go home and instead chose to follow you. I mean, hell, I just met you and here I am, following you into death." Sam laughed a bit to ease the tension, and tried not to think about all the times he *did* follow Steve into near-certain death. Or of the man waiting at the edge of the clearing with death written all over his face. 

"C'mon, Cap." Sam stood up and reached out a hand. "Folks are waiting. Don't let the strange newbie do all the work around here." 

"Thanks, Sam," Steve smiled as he took Sam's hand, and Sam smiled in return, though somewhat tinged with regret. Steve's eyes looked a bit harder, now. Resigned. Closer to the Steve he knew from the future. 

  


\- *-* - *-* - *-* - *-* - 

By the time they camped for the night, Wilson was joking with the rest of the Commandos, and even managed to get Dum-Dum to share some of his good bourbon and get Gabe drunk enough to sing the French song he'd written for his girl in college. He made the appropriate grimace at the can of Ham and Lima Beans, and Steve took great joy at showing Wilson how to set up a pup tent -- never mind that he'd just learned it himself a few months ago. By now it was quite clear that Wilson wasn't standard Army, or even standard Air Force. But neither was Dernier or Monty and this war was strange enough that it didn't matter. Especially since Cap likes him and he shared his poker winnings. 

Bucky watched and waited.

"Hey, I'll take first watch," Wilson offered around bedtime. "You're short a bedroll cause of me anyway."

"I'll take second watch," Bucky offered. 

Bucky watched Wilson as he waited for Steve to fall asleep in the bedroll beside him. It wasn't anything special -- Wilson just kept watch like someone who'd done it a thousand times: body relaxed, hand firm on the rifle, eyes alert. Quiet, watchful, easy.

After he was sure that Steve's asleep, Bucky crawled out of his bedroll and joined Wilson, who straightened up immediately.

"Whatever's on your mind, just say it." Wilson was apparently waiting for this. "I'll try to be as honest as I can."

Bucky picked up a stick and poked at the dirt in front of him.

"This isn't your first war." It was a simple enough observation -- Wilson's eyes were hard and calculating when he surveyed the surroundings for danger. And it's no accident that Wilson could hit the right tone of soldier's banter. 

"No." Wilson admitted. He smiled. "A very different war, though. And I didn't lie about the paratrooper part. I was para-rescue. Had to stop after my wingman was shot down beside me." Bucky marveled at how easily Wilson carried that weight. He could sense the pain in Wilson's words, but they're a quiet pain. Bucky tried to imagine how it'd feel like of he had to see Steve die next to him. Couldn't. Well, there were other things to ask Wilson.

"This is not the first time you've met me and Steve." Another observation. The way Wilson's eyes lit up when he saw Steve, the way he comports himself around Steve... all spoke to someone who knew Steve very well.

"Right." Wilson's eyes were guarded.

"But it's the first time I've met you."

"First time for Steve, too, if that's what you're wondering." Bucky raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. It's probably some H.G. Wells or Jules Verne thing involving time travel or lizard men.

Wilson shrugged. "Look, I can explain, but I'm not sure if you'd even want me to. Just roll with it and trust me when I say this: I'm on your side. Steve's the best thing that's happened to me, and I'd never do anything to jeopardize that." 

Bucky nodded. That felt real. Real like when Wilson was talking about his own war. One last thing, then. "Thank you, for today."

Wilson gave him a long, searching look, and Bucky glared right back. Finally, he sighed. "No problem, man. You gotta take care of yourself, Barnes." Bucky got the feeling that Wilson wanted to say something more, but instead he just said, "You've got a lot on your plate."

Bucky thought back to the darkness of the factory, the lab, the table. The darkness that wasn't burned away by the fires of the subsequent HYDRA infernos. He'd thought that following Steve would be enough, that training his eyes on that one spot between Steve's shoulder blades and ignoring everything else could help him through the darkness and the nightmares. But today proved that it wasn't. He couldn't follow Steve all the way. At least not yet. And when he looked at Wilson, it seemed that he understood, in a way that Bucky is not yet sure of himself.

Bucky nodded to the bedroll he'd vacated. "Go, my turn to keep watch." Wilson laid an understanding hand on his shoulder before shimmying into the pup tent. Steve made a contented noise at the return of body heat beside him, and Wilson scooted a bit closer. Bucky turned his attention back to surveying the surrounding forest. Maybe it's better to have someone who has tamed his darkness to sleep beside Steve. Meanwhile, Bucky did what he does best: wait and watch.


	2. Chapter 2

When they got back to base and it turned out Sam was not registered anywhere, Steve manufactured a reason for Sam to stay with the Howling Commandos. Colonel Phillips just shook his head and Peggy'd smiled at his stubbornness. By then Sam was teaching Morita new swears and half the Howlers owed him chocolate, so that part was all simple enough.

It was harder when he thought about Sam in other ways, though. Well, sure, some people had assumed that him and Bucky were more-than-friends, but both he and Bucky knew that wasn't true. Bucky liked girls, and Steve -- well, Steve liked people. 

He'd tried to explain it to Bucky, once, when he was 13. "'S not ... physical, Buck. It's... the way Sally smiles more when the math problem is hard. The way Peter bites his lip when he's about to talk back to the teacher. The way that you shrug before you say something important..."

"Hold up Steve, you... you're into me?" Bucky actually looked up from sorting his baseball cards.

"Nah, Buck. You're a handsome fella and a guy can't help but feel something physical sometimes. It's like how you lust after Esther's gams but I don't see you proposing to her." 

Bucky had laughed and pulled Steve in with his arm. "You find my armpits sexy, Steve-o?" The rest didn't need words. They'd known since age 9 that they'd follow each other to the ends of the earth and beyond. Him and Bucky -- that was simple.

Peggy Carter, on the other hand, was more complicated. Steve loved the way her lips flattened just before she decided to punch someone. The way she arched her left eyebrow just before she said the words "Stop being so dramatic, Steve" in the way that would always set him straight. The way she did paperwork with the brusque efficiency of someone who was meant for more and knew it. Sometimes Steve wondered whether he proposed to Peggy if she'd say yes. And whether he'd think less of her if she did. She was meant for more and they both knew it, after all. Regardless, Peggy wasn't the one sharing a pup tent with him most nights and that kept things simple.

But Sam -- what Steve felt for Sam was complicated.

He loved the way Sam's smile made the worst days feel better. He loved the way Sam threw a little swing to his hips when he knew he was walking into danger. He loved the way Sam would yell strange phrases when triumphant, like "Hasta la vista, baby!" or "Cut the check!" He loved the look of calm concentration that comes into Sam's eyes when he is doing field medical work, and the childlike joy when his M-unit was Meat and Spaghetti. He loved the way Sam would always find an excuse to say "On your left" and then chuckle at some inside joke. He loved the dreamy look in Sam's eyes when he looked at the sky and talked about flying.

He might just love Sam. Maybe it's as simple as that.

He told Bucky this one night after the others were asleep. Bucky chuckled. "Good job, Captain Oblivious. I'll tell Gabe tomorrow that he's won the pool."

"Wait, there's a pool for when I'd admit my love for Sam Wilson?"

Bucky shrugged. "Ever notice how no one takes over Sam's bedroll when he's on watch?" Now that he thinks about it, Steve realized that that's been true since November.

"So what do you think, Buck? Should I.. um... tell him?"

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "What, the great Captain America, coming to me for love advice?"

"Buck. You're the closest thing I have to family. I... it matters." Steve realized with a pang of guilt as he said those words that he hadn't been treating Bucky like proper family for a while now. His mind's been too full of HYDRA and death. And Sam. 

Bucky looked long and hard at Steve, and he suddenly remembered the fiercely protective way Bucky held him after Ma passed. "Well, as family, Steve," Bucky said slowly, "I'm here to tell you that Sam and I have been square since Day One. Also, I know for a fact that he's been head over heels for you since before you met him."

Steve gave Bucky a quick hug before crawling back toward his tent. "Thanks, Buck." Bucky leaned into the hug more than Steve expected, and he made a mental note to talk to Bucky properly in the morning.

Sam stirred awake in the bedroll next to him and mumbled, "Stop letting in cold air, Steve. No one warned me about how cold the Alps could be." 

Steve wrapped his blanket around Sam's and held on tight. "There, better now?" He breathed into Sam's ear.

Sam buried himself further into Steve's embrace and sleepily murmured "Everything's better with you, Steve."

Steve planted a gentle kiss on Sam's forehead as worries about the war and HYDRA left him. Things are simpler when he's with Sam.

\-----

Sam tensed the next morning when Steve decided to wake him with a kiss, a proper one on the lips.

"I'm sorry," Steve stuttered. Maybe Bucky was wrong and Sam didn't actually love him. Steve really should have asked properly, he'd never have done that with anyone else, but he was just so certain that... "I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't have just kissed you like that, I..."

Sam put out a hand to still him. "Steve, it's all right. I love you, too. That was a good kiss. Not your best one, but..."

Cold chills ran down Steve's spine as he remembered where Sam was from. Or rather, where Sam wasn't from. After the first day, they'd all decided not to talk about it, but that hasn't stopped it from being true: Sam wasn't from this time and place.

"I... shit. Did I mess something up?" And if Sam's not from this time and place, that meant that he's going to have to go back. Steve'd been assiduously avoiding that line of thought but the look on Sam's face brought it all back. "Are you... going back?"

Sam rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I dunno, Steve. I think so?" He frowned. "It's gotta happen soon, before.... before it's too late."

Steve looked at his hands, clasped tightly around Sam's. 

"When? Where?"

"Today or tomorrow, probably -- there's probably going to be some glowing light, but I don't know where ... hope it's not 100 feet in the air again..."

"I don't care about that," Steve said fiercely. "I mean when is the *right* time and place. To meet you."

Sam was taken aback. "I... I can't .. it might mess things up...."

"Just give me a hint. *Something*. You know me. I'm still going to do the things that feel right, even if I know it might kill me."

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked outside at the breaking dawn and the lightening sky. Steve took the opportunity to admire the way the light highlighted Sam's cheekbones. Then suddenly Sam was all movement as he pulled Steve in for a long kiss. It started soft and tender, as if he were on a soft fluffy cloud, but then Sam started biting and sucking at Steve's lips and he felt like he was breathless and spinning, soaring and falling, his mind going blank.... But Sam's tongue was there, gently playing against his tongue and lips, bringing Steve back to the present.

"Morning run, National Mall." Sam whispered into Steve's ear before he burrowed out of his blankets for his morning piss.

Sam didn't come back.

  


\-----

Steve woke up in 2011. 66 years too late for the date with Peggy, but he knew this was Sam's era. The too-tight shirts with the synthetic materials, the sleek metal and chrome surfaces, the tacky catchphrases and exuberant gestures. He got an apartment in DC, went on a run every morning at the National Mall, and waited. Steve felt like he was trapped in limbo, and sometimes he wondered if maybe he was actually still dead in the Arctic Ocean. But at least he still had Sam's kiss lingering on his lips. He started folding a crane for every day and every run.

Finally, one morning, 1000 cranes later, he saw a familiar figure turn onto the running path ahead of him. Smiling, Steve remembers to mutter "On your left," as he laps Sam.


	3. Sam & Bucky Aside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Sam and Bucky that happened off-screen because it's not Sam/Steve. Bucky is too good at pretending.

It was getting chilly as they moved up the Alps. Sam'd forgotten to grab an extra jacket when they left base camp. Too distracted by what he knew was at the end of this mission, not that he could do anything about it. Yet another fall that he couldn't save, and this time, he even knew it was coming.

Colonel Rhodes had given him a helpful packet as a "welcome to the big leagues" present, unabashedly printed on his home printer, though neatly stapled. "Rule 3 of superheroing: All time fuck-ups solve themselves. Just roll with it, and try not to mess with the big things." There was then a big "No" sign drawn over a figure assassinating Hitler. Sam's enjoyed rolling with it these past months, but Bucky falling was a Big Thing, and it's killing him that he couldn't do anything about it.

Maybe he'd be able to stop thinking about it if it weren't so damn cold.

"Hey Wilson, looks like you could use some warming up." A bottle of whiskey dropped into his lap as Bucky dropped down beside him, already half-drunk on his own bottle. "Just won it off of Dum-Dum, figured I'd quit while the going's good."

Sam took a grateful sip and tried not to think about the dead eyes on the Winter Soldier as he ripped his wing off. It's funny, how in the future they're still trying to find him, but here he is, Steve's Bucky, drunk and "in Technicolor", as Steve'd say.

"Something's gonna happen to me this mission, isn't it?" Sam nearly choked on his whiskey as Bucky continued beside him, calm and sober. "Ever since we got this Zola assignment, you've been looking at me like you've seen a ghost."

"At first I figured I was just gonna die, but then I realized it can't be that, because you knew me. From the future. Though not the way you knew Steve." Sam snuck a sidelong glance at the man sitting beside him. Bucky shot him a drunken smile that didn't match his voice and gestured expansively with his bottle. "Hey, it's all right, no one's listening."

Of course he was right: Steve was debating something in French with Dernier and Gabe. Monty, Morita, and Dugan were still deep in their poker game. Normally Sam'd join but he'd been out of sorts, so now the two were sitting on the outskirts of the fire. Maybe Bucky even convinced the rest of the guys that he's here to cheer Sam up. Hah.

"You know I can't tell you, Barnes. Much as I'd like to." And Sam honestly did. And not just for Steve, either. Over these last months he's really gotten to like Bucky. He could see now why Bucky's the kind you save -- so smart, so patient, so good. Maybe Sam had a thing for quiet soldier types who didn't like to bleed on other people.

Bucky sighed beside him, "Yeah, figured it was worth a shot though." He took another swig from his bottle and went back to acting drunk.

Sam thought hard. Even though he thought of the guy as Bucky, they still called each other by last names, and he couldn't really hug Bucky the way he'd hug Steve. But Steve could, if he knew about what Zola did to Bucky. But would that change too many big things? Would Steve then stop Bucky from going onto the train? Would he make sure Zola doesn't get recruited after giving up information on Red Skull? So much death could be prevented, but... No Shooting Hitler. Right.

But it still hurt to see Bucky like this. "You... you and Steve haven't been talking much. Maybe...."

Bucky shot him a long look, then turned to holler a joke at Morita before saying. "Y'know, we used to go out on double dates, Steve and me. But of course the women interested in dating me wouldn't give Steve a second glance. Steve wouldn't say anything but it really got to him. So afterward he'd go to some bar and pick a fight with the biggest creep there. Then he'd hide from me for a week and only talk to me again when he's healed enough to pretend nothing's the matter." Bucky looked accusatorily at his now-empty bottle. "There are just some things that we don't talk about." Sam nodded. He knew what it was like -- that sometimes having a loved one see your darkness and pain hurts worse than the thing itself. 

"Yeah, funny how that works. Used to be, the more banged up I was from a mission, the more cheerful would be my letter home." Sam thought about the time that he just repeatedly wrote "Riley is dead" and then repeatedly crossed it out a hundred times. His mouth felt dry. "Sometimes there are exceptions."

Bucky followed the direction of Sam's gaze to look at Steve, then quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I'm talking to you, aren't I, future man?" They both knew it's not the same, but you do what you can.

"My wingman, Riley. We did everything together." Sam hated how his voice always comes out dead and clipped when he does this, but he *needed* to tell Bucky. "He fell. A long way. I couldn't catch him." A sob escaped him in the sound of a sigh. "You know what I kept thinking about, after? All the things I kept from him. All the things I didn't ask him. Little things that didn't matter until after he's gone. Big things that I thought I'd have time for later." Sam stared at his whiskey and counted until he couldn't hear Riley's laughter anymore. 36. "So yeah, there are exceptions." 

Bucky had a quiet, thoughtful look when he got up and stumbled back to rejoin the group, and soon he was bantering cheerfully in awful French, taking Dernier's side against Steve as they all laughed. Sam spent the rest of the evening nursing his bottle and just thinking about what a scene the three of them made: he who knew too much but couldn't say anything, Bucky who desperately needed someone to notice but was too damn good at acting, and Steve, not knowing to look because Sam couldn't tell him anything. 

Time travel sucks.

\---

The next morning, Bucky caught him on his morning piss, and slipped him a letter. "Here, something for Steve-of-the-future." Bucky had black rings under his eyes. He'd stayed up all night writing.

Sam nodded back at the camp. "Why don't you give it to him now? Or maybe just tell him."

Bucky shook his head. "Steve is .... home. There are some things you don't write home about. Not yet, anyway."

And dammit, Sam knew exactly what Bucky's talking about here. Other people came to war and forgot what they were fighting for, but not Steve. So fierce and good that it would take losing his best friend and waking up completely alone 70 years in the future to give Steve that look that Sam knew so well from the VA. And even then, he still managed to take down a freaking alien invasion and HYDRA. Steve's faith in the goodness of people is what made Sam put his wings back on. But Bucky's right: His Steve's not going to get it, at least not yet.

A blue portal started glowing above the tree that he was taking a piss at. 50 feet up, of course. "Sam? You there?" Through the portal, he could hear Steve talking to someone, "Can we adjust the altitude on this thing? All I see are treetops." 

Beside him, Bucky started at the sound of Steve's voice, and for once, Sam could hear the difference, too -- the hardness in Steve's voice, worn from fighting after the war was supposedly won, sharp from commanding too many men, grim from having lost too much.

Well, seeing as he'd already spilled some beans to Steve this morning, Sam pulled Bucky in to a tight hug, period propriety be damned. "It's going to be hell for you. But you'll survive." He said what he could. "When you see us again, it'll be on a bridge, and I'll be wearing wings, but Steve will still be Steve. You'll know him. You always do."

Sam could feel Bucky relax into his hug before breaking away. "Thanks. I guess I better make myself scarce. Take care." Bucky shot one last glance at the blue portal before melting into the trees.

Sam started climbing toward Steve's voice.

* * *

After Wilson left, Bucky kept wanting to say something to Steve -- about Zola, about HYDRA. But it never came out right.

When Steve assigned positions for the mission and Bucky got assigned train duty, he wanted to say that maybe he's not the right person, that maybe he'd choke up and forget how to shoot, or maybe he'd go crazy and pump Zola full of lead before they got any information out of him. But what came out was, "Well I'll finally get to call him an 'asshole' in German. Or Swiss. Is Swiss a language?" Everyone laughed, and Gabe said maybe he should handle the language thing.

When he was looking at the zipline and he could hear the train's approach, he wanted to say that he's a coward and maybe he's afraid of dying after all, except that he knew it's going to be worse than death and no he's not ready for any of this and it's taking every ounce of willpower to stay standing there next to Steve, but what came out was, "This isn't payback for Coney Island, is it?" And then everyone laughed about the idea of Captain America hurling on the Cyclone.

When he was out of bullets and pinned down by HYDRA and Steve came to his rescue, he wanted to tell Steve that they're just delaying the inevitable, that maybe Steve shouldn't have intervened and that maybe it would have been better if he'd just died in the gunfire, but what came out was "I had him on the ropes." And Steve clapped him on the back because gosh darn it that's what his Bucky would say.

And when he was falling and all he could hear was the wind and Steve's shout, he wanted to tell Steve that it's okay, sorry for never saying anything properly, that maybe if he read the letter in the future it'd all make sense, but all that came out was the sound of himself screaming.

And then he spent a lot more time screaming, until he finally stopped making noise altogether. Assets only speak when it's mission-relevant.

But somewhere, the asset knew, there was going to be a bridge, and ... wings. And a man that he knew. A man that he wanted to say so many words to.

If only the asset remembered how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So halfway through writing Limbo, I really wanted to write a bit of Sam/Bucky, but didn't because the original thing was for a Sam/Steve fest, and how inappropriate would it be to end up with Sam/Bucky? But I was [recently re-afflicted](http://potofsoup.tumblr.com/post/128458424787/yetanotherobsessivereader-when-i-look-at) with feels about wartime Bucky and his inability to express himself to Steve. So this happened.
> 
> Here's [the tumblr post for this](http://potofsoup.tumblr.com/post/128493943522/limbo-chapter-3-potofsoup-captain-america) if you prefer liking there or whatever.


	4. Sappy Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Samtember, the happy ending.

The step through the portal was jarring -- one moment Sam was in a chilly alpine forest in 1944, and the next moment it was in a sterile lab full of beeping machinery. But before he could properly scan the room, he was pulled into a tight hug by Steve. "Welcome back," Steve murmured by his ear, and when he let go he gave Sam's shoulder a subtle nuzzle that promised more, later.

But first, there were other people around, and Steve is all business. Was it only 20 minutes ago that Steve'd kissed him clumsily in the pup tent? And in those 20 minutes, Steve'd aged 3 years and missed 70. Compared to the fuzzy, loose-limbed Steve of that morning, this Steve held himself in tight control, even as he stood at ease in the lab.

With a buzz the portal closed behind Sam.

And Sam suddenly found himself very much in the present. To his left Tony was rapidly sorting through a immense number of charts and data while babbling excitedly with Jane. To the back, Pepper and Colonel Rhodes were communicating with some official-looking guys over a bank of monitors, Sam could spot some guys in lab coats just outside the room, and just to his right, Darcy was taking a photo of him with her phone.

"Wow, that looks real legit. The WWII nerds online are going to shit themselves when I post this."

Sam suddenly realized that he was wearing a new-ish uniform that was now over 70 years old. And he was the only one in the room who didn't have at least 2 mobile devices on his body.

Colonel Rhodes looked over as the video conference wrapped up. "Sorry, we've had to convince multiple stakeholders that the amount of power we were drawing was *not* going to detonate half the Eastern Seaboard." He walked over and nodded at Sam, a twinkle in his eye. "I see you've handled yourself quite well, Wilson."

"Yes sir. Followed your instructions to the letter."

Tony nearly spat out his blueberries. "Wait, _instructions_? Rhodey-locks, you've been holding out on me?" 

Pepper rolled her eyes and started ushering Tony and the others out the door. "Tony, how about we talk about this downstairs? You owe Jane a beer since her theory worked, and you can try bribing Rhodey with some sweet potato fries."

Which just left Steve in the room. Sam wanted nothing more than to take Steve in private and talk to him about ... well, about the other Steve, and Bucky. But a look at the labcoats waiting eagerly outside reminded him that he was standing in the middle of a fancy lab wearing fresh gear from the 1940s, and time travel requires debriefing. For one, he didn't want to be bringing in accidental strain of some 1940s bug into the modern day. Wouldn't want his baby niece Tabitha to catch the Whooping Cough. Secondly, he's a professional, dammit.

So intake processing first.

\----------

It was evening by the time Sam and Steve got back to their apartment and finally kissed. Unlike the sloppy kisses of 1944, this one was tight, Steve's lips full of the joy and urgency of someone who hadn't seen him for weeks. One of those kisses that left Sam unable to breathe but wanting more. "You've become a much better kisser since this morning. It's almost like you got seventy extra years of experience."

Steve chuckled and nibbled Sam's neck. "Well, I *did* learn from an expert." As Sam reciprocated, Steve let out a relaxed sigh, "I missed you... although I guess you didn't miss me."

"I missed proper beds" Sam said as he pulled Steve onto the bed and they settled side by side, arms and legs entwined, just enjoying each other's company after a day of tests and paperwork.

Eventually Steve spoke. "I spent a week freaking out and knocking on the doors of every science person I could reach. But when Jane was able to calculate your general time and location..." Steve smiled. "I was able to help her pinpoint the actual coordinates. Then it was a matter of getting you home at the right time."

Sam elbowed him. "Why didn't you tell me before? Didn't think you were that good at keeping secrets."

Steve shrugged. "Didn't want to jinx it when we first met. Besides, I had no way of knowing when you were going to be sent back. And then it just kind of slipped my mind as we went looking for Bucky ...." Steve grew quiet. "I'm glad that the portal closed before I did anything stupid."

Sam pulled even closer to Steve and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I know, Steve. I *know*." He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the letter and looked at it. "God, this morning Bucky was still talking to me ..." Sam ran his hand over the letter -- simple pieces of paper carrying sentiments from 12 hours and a lifetime ago. Does the Bucky who wrote this letter still exist in the man they've been chasing for the last year?

"Here." He handed the letter to Steve. "Bucky gave this to me to give to you." Steve gave him a stunned look. "Yes, he specifically said you-of-the-future." Sam let the words hang in the air -- its implications were clear enough. As Steve took the letter, Sam moved to get up and give Steve some privacy, but Steve reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Stay, Sam. I... I want you here."

So Sam plopped back on the bed, facing Steve so that he wouldn't be tempted to read the letter himself, and watched Steve as he read.

Bucky must have written some pretty juicy stuff, since Steve started out with a chuckle. "Rachel Spiegelman? You rascal." And later, "Ah hah, I knew the ham was your fault!" And "that was Becca's idea?" But as the letter went on, he grew quiet, and just shook his head and occasionally murmured "Oh Bucky." Sam found himself thinking about time shit again. After all, here was a letter that was freshly made yet also a 70-year-old antique. So was it new or old? The ink's barely dry and yet already it had immense collectible value. That must be how Steve feels most of the time: a young, living antique. And suddenly it struck Sam that half the people he was talking to this morning were dead. And one of them had become the Winter Soldier. Thinking back to Bucky's resigned face this morning (and 70 years ago, fucking time shit), Sam couldn't help thinking as well: "Oh, Bucky." Sam and Steve both took the easy way from 1944 to the 21st century. Bucky was less fortunate.

He felt Steve clasp his hand, and looked up to see that Steve had finished the letter. Steve had that thoughtful look on his face that made Sam want to kiss his eyelids. "Well?"

"He said that you told him to talk about big things and little things." Steve slid down on the bed to join Sam and smiled at him gratefully. "Things that friends forget to say to each other." Steve carefully folded up the letter. "And he said that it's not my fault that I didn't know about Zola, and that I should stop beating myself up about it." Steve laughed helplessly. A little too late for that. "Because even though I didn't know, having me around helped." Steve sighed, voice suddenly heavy, "He said he just needed some time to figure things out on his own first, but..." Steve focused on a stain on the bedding. "He knew he didn't have time then to figure out how to say things properly back then, so he figured maybe by the time I got this..." Steve was barely audible now. "...he'll have figured it out." 

Sam spent the next 15 minutes just holding Steve's hand as they both thought about Bucky. The Winter Soldier. His trail grew so cold after a year of searching that Sam managed to convince Steve to take a break and tend to some Avengers business. At the time he didn't really understand Steve's determination to find Bucky. Though not from lack of trying. Sam tried to imagine how he'd feel if Riley suddenly showed up, alive but a brainwashed assassin... and had to stop before the hypothetical drove him insane. There were just too many unknowns -- would the Riley he knew still be in there? Still be good? What if he weren't? And as they unearthed more and more about the Winter Soldier, Sam couldn't help but wonder: how did Steve have so much faith? At the time, he chalked it up to Steve's particular... Steve-ness. But now that he'd met Bucky, fought with him, talked with him, saw the pain in his eyes as he tried not to bleed on Steve and to do what's best for everyone... Sam now believed as much as Steve did in Bucky being the kind you save.

"He let the trail grow cold, Steve." Sam said suddenly, as everything made clicked together with a sort of cold clarity. "The more he's Bucky, the more he wants to figure things out himself." As the words left his mouth Sam knew them to be true. "He'll come talk to us once he's figured out what he wants to say."

Steve got up, walked to the window and peered out into the New York streets, perpetually aglow with activity. He opened up the letter again and scanned the opening lines. When Steve turned back to look at Sam he had clearly decided something. "Sam, I want to write to him." Waving the letter with purpose, he said, "You said to write about the big things and the little things, right? The things that you always forget to say to your best friend when they're around." Sam nodded. "Well, that's what I'm going to write him. If you're right, and he's out there trying to figure things out -- he should still know what his best friend is up to. That he *has* friends." 

"Friends in the future, you mean." By now Steve had gotten good at leaving that part of the sentence, but Sam could usually tell, and especially now when he's been feeling a bit of the temporal displacement himself.

"Oh, Sam." Steve smiled and pulled Sam into another lingering kiss. "First big thing I'm going to tell him about: how amazing you are in the future." Steve threw himself back on the bed and ripped out a sheet of paper from his sketchbook. "Second thing will be about mango sticky rice."

"Um... how are you planning to get the letter to him?"

"Oh, that's easy -- how do you figure out the best place to leave a letter that can only be found by an ex-Russian super-spy?" Steve looked up from his letter and raised his eyebrow.

Sam laughed and pulled out his new phone. "I'll text Natasha."

\-----------

Natasha helped them rig up a little cache by their window -- a place easily reached from the inside, but only reachable from the outside by a guy with super serum and a cybernetic arm.

"How does he know to look?" Steve was curious.

Natasha turned and pointed to a nearby rooftop. "That's the best vantage point for checking in on this apartment, and I've left some pretty distinctive marks." She disappeared outside the window again. "It may take a week or two, but he'll know."

It took 12 days of Steve anxiously checking the cache every morning and then trying really hard to not think about it the rest of the day. But suddenly, on Wednesday morning, the letter was gone.

Steve was ecstatic. "I'm going to write another one! Tell him about the toffee place on Coney Island!"

A week later that letter was gone, too. And in its place, a reply.

It was short, more like a mission report and less like a letter, but it was signed JBB. It mentioned a Hydra base that Bucky took down. It also mentioned bananas being "bland but containing acceptable nutritional value." Steve, of course, wrote back with a page-long diatribe about bananas and a few sentences about the Beatles. Steve also shoved a sheet of paper at Sam and told him to write Bucky, too.

"What am I supposed to write?"

"Big things. Little things. Write about Tabitha throwing her snot at you last time we visited."

So that's what Sam did. He wrote about his nieces. He wrote about the construction nearby that caused transit delays. He wrote about things that happened down at the VA. After some thought, he wrote about Riley. He was honestly surprised when he got a reply letter of his own. In it, Bucky shared a memory of one of *his* sisters deciding to use her snot to draw a picture on the wall, drew a diagram with some weak points in Sam's wings, and asked a question about the VA.

So they kept writing. Soon Natasha also joined them, though her letters were in Russian. "Some things deserve to stay secrets," she'd say as she tucked her letter in with the rest of theirs. "It's a Soviet thing." Once she even brought a letter from Tony, who of course claimed he was just trying out the dictation to handwriting algorithm he'd installed on DUM-E.

\--------

Bucky's responses started sounding less like mission reports and third-person observations, until two months and 8 letter exchanges later, Sam got an unusually short letter asking if the VA had a place for all American soldiers who didn't want to fight anymore. Sam wrote back, carefully explaining veteran's benefits and the steps it'd take to be officially counted as one. 

Bucky took the letter, but didn't write back. He didn't write back to any of Steve or Natasha's letters either.

For two weeks the cache became stuffed with letters written by an increasingly worried Steve. "Was it something I wrote?" Steve paced about. "I was just writing about new pizza toppings, and how Bucky should *not* watch Miss Saigon..." Sam did his best to calm and distract Steve, but it was the worst on Wednesdays -- the day Bucky'd usually drop off the replies. On the first Wednesday, Steve insisted on camping out by the window all night, then snapped at everyone the next day. So on the second Wednesday, Sam decided to invite Natasha and some of the others, order in for pizza, and host a letter writing party.

When the doorbell rang, Sam opened the door expecting the pizza delivery guy and instead found Bucky standing there, holding the 8 boxes that they'd ordered, and an extra two for himself. He was dressed in a nice shirt, clean-shaven with his hair just the way he liked it back in the war. Sam had a sudden sense of deja vu to 1944 and waking up at the foot of a tree with Bucky peering at his face. 

"Hi Sam, Steve." Bucky nodded at Steve who had come bounding up from the couch. "Sorry it took me a bit longer than I'd said in my first letter." Bucky smiled. "Can I come in? If these pizzas get any colder, they'll taste worse than Ham and Lima Beans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a ... somewhat different [rough draft](http://potofsoup.tumblr.com/post/129763524202/limbo-happy-epilogue-draft) on tumblr, in case anyone is curious. But now everything is happy!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://potofsoup.tumblr.com), though I mostly draw fan comics.


End file.
